


Questions

by GoldenSnowflake



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Gen, ZADF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-11
Updated: 2012-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 03:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/402146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenSnowflake/pseuds/GoldenSnowflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a long pause, and Dib looks over at Zim. The Irken is waiting to have his full attention, which would be kind of endearing if it wasn't simultaneously very, very annoying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questions

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Alien](https://archiveofourown.org/works/402096) by [GoldenSnowflake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenSnowflake/pseuds/GoldenSnowflake). 



"Why do you not ride the bus, Dib-worm?"

The teen shoots a sideways glance at his rival, meaning to mask the surprise he feels. It's the most sincere question Zim has ever asked.

"Riding the bus isn't cool."

He's too tired to care that his reply is curt. It's been eight nonstop hours of getting picked on and stared at and learning things that are entirely pointless on too little sleep and too much caffeine.

Zim blinks his big eyes thoughtfully. "How can it be any warmer than the interior of your karr?"

"Not like that, Zim." Dib scratches idly at a zit trying to form on the size of his chin. "It's frowned upon. It's for the little kids."

"Mmmm," he goes, ever-overzealous in his intonation, as if this makes perfect sense. The parade of giant Twinkies roar unceremoniously to life and belch black clouds of gas into the hot air, and all the little faces inside blink through the windows like tiny creatures that have been devoured alive. The two don't bother trying to talk over the deafening diesel growl, watching quietly as the buses shuttle out of the parking lot and onto the grimy road.

"Dib-thing?"

"Huh?"

"Why must we sit for so long?"

The boy looks across the dingy lot, at circles of loudly-laughing jocks, at younger girls giggling and stabbing with manicured nails at their cell phones. Some kids haul sports gear back toward the skool. Several couples murmur softly, hugging and smiling like nothing exists but the two tightly-pressed bodies.

"It's not cool to leave right away. It makes you look like a nerd. Like you can't stand to be here."

The alien digests this. "But we can't stand to be here."

"That's why you pretend not to hate everyone and everything."

"But everything already knows we hate it."

Annoyed, Dib looks at the flat bottle of Pepsi in the cup holder. He hands it to Zim. The invader takes it, puzzled, then tosses it out the window.

There is a silence for a while. It's not an awkward one but not an easy one either. The green boy gazes around, quiet and observant, and the pale teen tries not to be any more exasperated and stressed out than he already is. He has two papers to write, math homework, a form his dad has to sign, which will take at least two hours to get accomplished…

"Dib-thing?"

"Ngh."

There's a long pause, and Dib looks over at Zim. The Irken is waiting to have his full attention, which would be endearing if it wasn't simultaneously very annoying. Dib raises his eyebrows in an exaggerated expression of interest.

"Why do the other smellies turn their radios up so loud that my squeedlyspooch vibrates?"

Dib shrugged. "They think it's cool."

"For what reason?"

Dib opened his mouth, then frowned. "I really don't know."

Zim looks at his claws, thinking. Indeed, a rusty car goes by with the bass up so much that Dib can feel the jarring in the back of his throat. It's overcast now, and the humidity is stifling.

"We should leave soon, Dib-smell," the male in the passenger seat says, sounding tired. "I have much evil planning to do if I want to turn your brain-meats to jelly before Monday."

"Do you?"

The teen leans on his palm, gazing tiredly at the new skater-kid and Zita as they perform an utterly disgusting attempt at a kiss.

"I must sterilize the jelly-synthesizing probes before I can test them, but I guess it wouldn't be bad if your brain was turned into germy jelly … but then I was also considering keeping your brain and inserting it into another Dib-clone so I could harness your filthy, big-headed brilliance to use in the destruction of your icky … icky … race."

"I don't wanna go straight home. It makes me feel like I don't have any friends."

Interrupted, Zim blinks at his mortal enemy. "You don't have any friends."

There is silence for a minute – this time an uncomfortable one – and Dib starts his car.

"As I was saying, filth, I must sufficiently sterilize the synthesizing probes and lower the acidic levels in the brain container before I can even begin to set the trip-lines in front of your-"

"Wanna go get ice cream?"

Zim narrows an eye. "Eh?"

"I've got enough money for double scoops and sprinkles."

Zim shifts in his seat, the air conditioning blowing the tall tuft of hair on his wig. "Sprinkles?"

"They're sweet and crunchy." Dib sits up and buckles his seatbelt. "We can get a banana split or something for your robot."

The invader blinks in thought, looking at a clump of dirt in the parking spot next to them. "Gir has been very obedient lately."

The wind is picking up now, and the moisture feels good in the breeze. His rival wiggles around in his seat, getting situated on the cheap fabric, ready for the Membrane boy's touchy gas petal and sharp turns. He always does that. Ever-alert. Ever-ready.

"These … sprinklies … they are a symbol of your surrender to Zim, yes?"

Pulling out of his spot, Dib doesn't look at Zim. He doesn't need to to feel the devilish and toothy grin gleaming in his direction. A few kids roar with laughter as if they're the funniest thing in the world, and Dib ignores the question his enemy still poses at him through piercing, gleeful eyes.

For some reason, the teen's mood is beginning to pick up as he glances at the empty stretch of road in both directions and pulls out.

**Author's Note:**

> Roughly inspired by one of the one-sentence prompts I did a while back. I wrote this to capture the way I felt towards the end of hi skool, knowing that I was almost finished with that phase of my life. I would've preferred being in class with Zim for sure though. :)


End file.
